Chapter Thirty-Five: What a Day (Part III, Night)

"The visions," Abbets repeated in a whisper, his eyes lost on something only he could see, his torment, his hell. When he spoke again, his voice was harsh with angst and desire and desperation, "Will I be free of them? The visions? If I stop, will the visions stop? Please, Ser, tell me the truth. I would suffer any sacrifice, endure any unending hardship, so long as the visions stop!"

Cullen leaned back, but not because the soon-to-be-former-templar had grown aggressive, but because the conversation was emotionally taxing. "I won't lie to you. There will be good days. There will be bad days. You will have the occasional…" he almost smiled as he remembered the word Peredura had used, "Let's call them 'triggers,' that will bring the visions back. But the hallucinations will be no where near as intense as they are for you now, and they can easily be seen for what they are and dismissed. It's only because you've spent years being exposed to indescribable evils and atrocities—horrors that most people could never imagine—that, coupled with the lyrium and its effects on your body and mind, that is what makes your visions seem so lifelike right now. But after you're off the lyrium, the intensity does fade. With time."

Abbets nodded, satisfied enough with the answer. "Then I accept. Should I make it through my withdrawal, I shall stand as your second-in-command. I shall endure as you do, Ser, and perhaps we'll both fare better, for the camaraderie. How do we begin?"

"We shall begin by finding out what this trigger of yours is, so over the next few days we can avoid it as much as possible. When did they start?" Peredura asked, "Your visions? What was it that made you begin to feel that you had to stop taking lyrium?"

Abbets didn't answer right away.

Cullen leaned forwards once more, closer to the other man, and pressed, "Does it have something to do with the Inquisitor?"

"Maker's breath," Abbets moaned, one hand nearly dropping the glass while the other tried to cover his face. Fear shifted against him, anchoring him to the moment and to reality, preventing him from slipping away. Abbets took the hand away from his face and brought it back to the Mabari's head, adding a half-grimace, half-smile in gratitude. "It was… it's hard to remember, exactly… I suppose I've… never truly forgotten what happened… how could I… there were always nightmares… but the day-mares… the visions… the waking dreams…" Abbets eyes were still red as he lifted them to stare at Peredura. "They started, I think, because of you. Excuse me, your Worship, but I… that is, one day, don't remember exactly, but it was some time after that three-day cold of yours when you wouldn't leave your tower at Skyhold, but before the mage kidnapped you?" He cleared his throat, wishing he hadn't brought up yet another time he had failed his Inquisitor. "We… I saw… then he saw, Devensport that is… it was an errant breeze, moved your hair, right before you put your helmet on, but…" Shame flooded his cheeks and he dropped his gaze into his cup.

She nodded. "I see. It's all right, Albert," she continued using his given name, "Humphrey already told us that the two of you figured out that I'm, well, elven, and from Tevinter."

"He did, huh? Harrumph. Always talks too much, that one," Abbets groused, glad for something or someone else to blame.

"So it's me, then," she tried to bring him back on topic. "There's something about me that reminds you of the worst moment in your life?"

She had guessed correctly, yet Abbets couldn't answer, and the silence stretched onward.

Cullen broke it, his voice as dark and terrible as the experience he shared. "I was at Kinloch when the Circle there broke, during the Fifth Blight. Our Knight-Commander thought it was the best course of action to seal off the tower, trapping the rogue mages inside. Unfortunately, I and a few fellow templars were trapped in there with them. We knew, the only way we'd make it out of there alive, was if we ourselves took back the tower and killed the rebel mages. We almost made it…" his voice trailed off for a moment as he remembered. "But not quite. In the end, I was the only one who lived through it.

"We'd been trapped in a chamber," he continued, his voice steady and terrible and quiet, adversely soft against the subject matter, "Myself and three other templars. We were out of lyrium, unable to break free of the magic that kept us prisoner, and tortured by two desire demons. The other templars were driven mad over the images the demons tormented us with; they ended up killing each other. I only survived by resorting to prayer, until I could be rescued. But ever since then, even after I transferred to Kirkwall, the visions those demons used to torture us…" his voice was fading away, bit by bit, into bleak blackness, yet he pressed on. "They remained, haunting me, inhibiting me, for years. I had absolutely no, erm, desire to, well, 'be' with a woman, if you catch my meaning. Any thought or impulse of that nature would bring those demons and their visions to mind and I… and I couldn't even entertain the thought of…" his voice stopped, and he had to work to find enough saliva to swallow.

Peredura took his hand in his, reminding him of the fact that he had hands and that one of them held a glass of water. He took a quick sip before wrapping up his confession.

"I never spoke of this, not in my report to my Knight-Commander, not to any friend or confidant—mainly because I had no one who was close to me. But also because I simply could not speak of it—not because as templars we are conditioned not to speak of these things. It was because it was too personal, too private, too painful, and the recurring visions kept the mental wounds far too fresh. I suffered in silence for years… until I met Pere. It's taken courage, courage to admit I had been helpless, I had been a… a victim… of what only can be described as mental rape, but I have at long last opened up about it, talked about it, and started to heal, thanks to her. And now, yes, after sharing my experience, and weaning off of the lyrium, the visions have lessened. They've become fairly easy to ignore, actually," Cullen gave Peredura's hand a loving squeeze as a gentle grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, "In the bright light of reality.

Abbets hadn't looked up during Cullen's recitation, though he had heard every word. Peredura watched as the older man remained leaning forward, elbows on his knees, one hand on Fear's head, eyes staring beyond the room to a tableau only he could see. A single tear escaped the corner of his eye to lose itself in his coarse beard.

"You'd understand, Commander, having been a templar yourself. But…" his eyes flickered towards Peredura, "I'd rather not… that is… she, erm, I mean, some people shouldn't hear these things… the things we've seen… we've done… as templars…"

Peredura wanted to roll her eyes, she wanted to scoff, she wanted to laugh, but most of all she wanted to put Abbets at ease. "I'll leave, if you wish it," she began, trying to keep the irritation out of her voice. Truthfully, she didn't need to know why she triggered Abbets' episodes—she could admit she was curious—however, she was also capable and far more able to assist than most other non-templars, and she wanted him to know that. "But I can help. I also understand addiction, Albert.

"I'm not just an elf from Tevinter," she leaned forward, but only slightly, as Fear's hackles lifted as soon as she moved. She listened to her Mabari and kept at least an arm's length away from Abbets, but she also wanted to show with her actions that she was sincere. "I was a slave to a blood mage."

"Pere…" Cullen's voice was dark with a warning tone, but when she turned her face towards him, he saw the quiet strength in her features.

"No, Cullen, let me tell him. If he's going to be your second, then he'll be in on a lot of our secrets, perhaps all of them. We might as well start with this one; it will help."

Cullen didn't agree, but she was the Inquisitor, and she had helped him through his withdrawal, so perhaps she knew a little better what to do in this situation. And though he would rather she waited until after Abbets made it off of lyrium, just in case, he was not going to argue with her in front of the man.

Peredura turned back to Abbets, wishing she could take his hand, but wisely choosing to keep one eye on Fear and his actions, and keep her distance. "My master…" damn, but old habits do have a way of creeping back up. She laughed a little at herself and tried again, "Huh, I mean, my former master, Vivianus Vicici, he was a Tevinter Magister, a powerful blood mage, powerful enough that his practice of blood magic was an open secret in Tevinter. And I was his favorite source. It's a long story how I became his slave," she started pushing up the sleeve of her coat, bunching and rolling the fabric until it was above her elbow, "But it was because he thought my blood was special, that it held some sort of extra power or magic. It doesn't, but the truth didn't matter because he believed the falsehood to be true, so it was true for him. And he kept me in line, kept me enthralled, by getting me addicted to a drug called opeigh. Opeigh tainted my blood of course, making it unfit for use in his rites. But whenever there was a ritual to perform, he'd stop my dosage and wait for the drug to clear my blood." Her fingers started fiddling with the laces at her wrist, untying the knots and loosening the sleeve of her tunic. "Then he'd perform the blood magic, and usually immediately after give me the drug again to keep me in line. This happened so often, for so many years—since I was seven or eight years old—that I became addicted to opeigh. I NEEDED it. And I would do anything to get it, even draw my own blood, my own hand on the knife, to give power to his blood magic." She finished freeing her arm, pushing up her sleeve and revealing only a small part of the scars that covered her skin. But it was enough. "You see, Albert, I understand addiction. I was as addicted to opeigh as Cullen—or you—have been addicted to lyrium. Only your addiction gave power; mine took everything away, every thought or memory of what I'd seen, what Vicici had done, what I had willingly helped him do. Opeigh drops you into a black void of nothingness, no memory, no feelings, no thought. And I preferred that over remembering the horrors of blood magic, of demons too monstrous to describe, of the knowledge that I had willingly assisted Vicici in summoning these evils.

"Again, Albert," she wound to an end, "I do understand, and I have seen the things you've seen; there's nothing you could say that would shock or disgust me. But if you would be more comfortable without my presence, then I'll leave." She saw Fear's hackles had dropped during her confession, and emboldened by the hound's lack of concern, she reached out to set her fingertips on his sleeve.

His head shifted at the touch, his face turning towards her arm. She could imagine she felt Abbets' eyes boring into her skin, her revealed scars, the lines and curves mesmerizing and speaking to ancient magic. She wanted to pull away, she wanted to cover up again, but he needed this, he needed to know she understood—she cared! So she kept herself perfectly still and waited.

"Never could pronounce her name," Abbets suddenly began, nearly startling the other two. He looked up and blinked, trying to keep his eyes clear, his voice unclouded, as he began. "Called her, 'Missy.' Something simple and easy for a dumb log like myself. But I loved her, I did. Though she was elven."

"That… could get complicated," Cullen allowed, trying not to think of himself and Peredura.

Abbets gave a short, self-deprecating bark of laughter at that. "It's not done, is it, Commander?" His question was spoken more like a statement. "Oh, sure, some templars marry, there's no law forbidding it, but it's very rare. And then… human and elven… there's even more to consider. But I loved her." His voice was so soft for this last sentence, that it could have easily been left unheard. As was his next sentence, "And she loved me.

"Her father didn't approve," Abbets continued, his voice growing stronger once more. "Least ways, he was cautious with me—with us. So I went to my Knight-Commander about it, wanted to do things right, by the Order, by Missy, by her father. Knight-Commander Octavia suggested time and patience. We were so young, after all, I had barely reached my twentieth year, and Missy younger than me. We had the time, we should take it. That was her advice. That, and she did give her approval, but only if I could get the father's approval."

"I've met Knight-Commander Octavia," Cullen said quietly, mostly for Peredura's benefit, "Years ago, of course. She's passed now. But she was very wise. She often counseled patience and study for any problem. Yet she could be decisive when the situation called for it."

"That she was, Ser," Abbets agreed, pausing to sniff before continuing his story. "So I did my best, to do things right by Missy's father. I was polite. I never pressured the girl to, erm, you know…" his voice trailed off and his cheeks burned bright red beneath his unshaven cheek.

Peredura smiled and patted his arm, still keeping one eye on Fear, knowing things could go from good to worst in a fraction of a second, when dealing with lyrium withdrawal. "Always the gentleman," she supplied.

Abbets nodded, grateful he was understood without having to say that, not in front of the Inquisitor. "Missy had other suitors. Elves. Even though she and her family were simple farmers, she was a beauty. Had a gentle soul. And a smile that could keep you warm through a long winter. Made her popular. Gave me a lot of competition, and being the only human my chances weren't all that great. But she loved me, she did. And her father knew that. So he allowed me to press my hand, too."

"I think I can already see where this is going," Cullen mused, his voice filling with dread.

Peredura gave him a questioning look, but Cullen shook his head and allowed Abbets to tell her.

"You've read my file," he didn't look up, his voice dropping to the floor. "Both of you. You know… what happened… early in my career… the three mages who tried to escape the Circle."

"You…" she didn't know if she should speak, but he was having so much trouble, she simply couldn't keep quiet. "You were sent to track them down and return them to the Circle. You tracked them all the way to… Oh!" She stopped with a gasp, the realization hitting her.

And Abbets picked up his tale once more. "The mages found out I was the one following them. And it was no secret that I was courting Missy. They thought, if they took Missy and her family hostage, that I would back down and allow them to escape. Maker…! Forgive me…! I… I couldn't…" His voice shook with the same force that shook his hands.

Peredura looked from Abbets to Cullen, sensing she was missing something, and Cullen very quietly provided for her ears alone, "It is not templar policy to negotiate with hostage-takers."

"I couldn't allow it," Abbets continued almost over the top of Cullen's brief explanation, not having heard it. "I was a templar first. And they were renegade mages. If I let them go, they'd kill even more people. I had to end it, there and then. I had to! That was the only chance they—any of us!—had!"

Fear gave a low rumble of warning, and Peredura wisely withdrew her hand, leaning back in her chair while Cullen leaned forward as if trying to put himself between her and Abbets.

"I didn't waste any time talking or thinking. The first two mages fell to my blade quickly, cleanly, I gave them that much! But the third… He used their blood, the blood of his fellow mages, and summoned a demon. It was… monstrous, barely able to fit inside the farmhouse. The farmer… he watched as the demon picked up his wife by her legs and tore her in two, right down the middle. Then… as the demon reached for him… the look on his face… as he was crumpled and crushed into a tight ball of flesh and bone and gore…

"He blamed me," Abbets all but sobbed his angst. "He blamed me, my love for Missy, my lack of discretion… all of it led to the mages using them against me. But I wouldn't allow it—I couldn't allow it to dissuade me. And so I became the cause of death for the farmer and his family.

"I killed the last mage then, but that didn't dispel the demon," his voice was rushing now, fueled by his pain and guilt. "It reached for Missy next. It held her before it, its mouth gaping and about to bite off her head. And she looked at me with such love and confidence… she believed I could still save her… but I couldn't… I had to end the demon… it was holding her in front of it… her body blocking my attack…

"So I ran her through! I took my sword and ran her through, straight through her heart and into the demon's and destroyed it. In its death throes its jaws clamped down and bit off her head, but she was already dead… by my blade!

"…And I was praised for it…" He had been shouting a moment before, but he was whispering now, his voice barely above a lamenting sigh, a thrumming breath. "I had singlehandedly stopped three renegade mages and a demon. I had saved countless other lives. They tried to reward me and promote me and make me out to be some sort of legend… all for killing my love…"

Peredura fought back a sob, her heart breaking, her own tears falling hot and heavy down her cheeks. "A young elven girl," she choked, trying to find her voice. "Missy was a young elven girl. And when you accidentally saw my ears, saw that I was elven, it brought it all back for you."

He gave another derisive bark, and his voice was dark once more. "Truth, your Worship, it never left me, not really. But, yes, when I saw you were elven…" he looked up at her and his hand lifted, as if he wanted to brush back her hair and reveal her mutilated ears. Fear gave a growl and pushed against Abbets' leg, trying to knock him aside. Cullen stood and positioned himself in front of her, at the same time she stood and slipped behind Cullen and further from Abbets' reach. The old templar seemed confused for a moment, taken aback, and stood as well. His eyes settled on Cullen and he snapped—Peredura could actually see the moment Abbets slipped into his madness—and drew his imaginary sword. "Step aside, demon. I'll destroy you if you harm so much as a hair on her head. Missy! Come to me! I'll keep you safe this time! I promise! I'll keep you… I'll… you'll be safe…"

Abbets seemed to be confused for a moment, as Peredura had slipped out of his sight, and no longer being able to see his long-lost love within his vision had left him adrift. He dropped to his knees and lifted his face to roar at the heavens, "MISSSSSEEEEEE!"

"Get out."

The two words were spoken with such calm, such mildness, that Peredura normally would have never considered them to be commanding. But they were a command, the strongest Cullen had ever given her, and she obeyed them without question, without thought really. She was closer to the main bedchamber door than the office door, and within a heartbeat she found herself outside in the hallway.

"Your Worship?"

She squeaked. She actually gave a small squeaking sound, like a mouse, as she jumped and turned towards the sound of the Guard's voice. Quickly her hand flew over her mouth, and just as quickly her other hand flew up to cover her forearm, still bare of its sleeve, to hide her scars. "Fergus," she acknowledged, recovering quickly, dropping her arms and trying to unobtrusively roll down her sleeve.

"Is… everything alright, Ser?" he pressed, stepping closer. He had been positioned outside the door in the hallway, knowing she was either in the Commander's office or his chambers and not wanting to leave access to her unguarded.

"No… yes… that is…" she had to take a deep breath before she could muster her thoughts into anything that resembled intelligence. "I'm fine, Fergus, thank you for your concern. It was just, erm, I…" she cast about for something to say as she cast about for something to do. "I didn't expect to find you here. I thought you would have wanted a turn at guarding the mage."

"Oh, I plan to, your Worship, make no mistake of that," Fergus nodded, his voice deadly, "But you are my first priority. When I heard Abbets had been summoned here, to speak with both you and the Commander, I… well… I…"

His voice faltered, and for once he actually looked embarrassed—just a bit—over his rashness and brazenness.

Peredura gave him a small smile. "I appreciate it, David, thank you." Using Devensport's given name had had a strong effect on the man, she decided to try it on Fergus next. Apparently, it had been the right thing to do, as the man immediately dropped the rest of his aggressiveness.

"Ser!" he snapped to attention, his hand striking his chest-plate, the sound clattering down the hallway. He didn't offer any more opinions or explanations, any more conversation at all really, but stood silent and alert, a perfect guard.

"I, ah," she licked her lips, stalling. She really wanted to go back in there, but she knew she had to stay out and allow Cullen and Fear to handle Abbets; her presence was too disruptive. Yet she was not quite ready to relieve Dorian of the duty of manning Cullen's office. Lifting her face, she said the next thing that came to mind. "I think I'd like to see the prisoner now. Where is he being kept?"

"In the dungeon," Fergus supplied. If he had any questions about why she changed her mind, as she had earlier stated that she wanted the mage to sit and stew in solitude for a few days before seeing him, he didn't speak counter to her wishes. He merely stepped aside and gestured with his arm, "This way, Inquisitor."

"Thank you," she smiled.

Truthfully, she didn't want to see the mage—she never wanted to see his pockmarked cheeks, his dead blue eyes—ever again. But she had to do something, since she couldn't help with Abbets, at least not at that moment…

And she was dead tired of those reports!

Trying not to feel guilty over leaving Dorian, all alone in Cullen's office and unaware of her intentions, she started off down the way Fergus had indicated.

"Ah, there you are!" Dorian's voice was loud, overflowing with a false cheerfulness, a chunk of rebuke thrown in for good measure. "The Commander and I have been wondering where you'd taken yourself off to. At least, we were until one of your guards reported in, saying as how the mage remained unconscious due to his injuries, and that you were down here keeping vigil."

Peredura acted as if she hadn't heard him. She stood at the door of the cell, her arms wrapped around her torso, her face pressed close to the bars. The torchlight behind her shone in past her head to land on the prisoner's form, illuminating it and proving that the damnable Venatori hadn't escaped, hadn't even regained consciousness. Yet she stood still, staring, as if transfixed by a spell.

Dorian at last noticed her lack of response. Concerned, fearing that perhaps the mage wasn't knocked out, but had somehow come around and cast a spell over her despite the two templars standing guard and out of sight, he set a hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. "Peredura?"

"Hmmm?" Her face gave a twitch towards him, but her eyes remained glued to the lump of flesh and bone inside the cell.

"Are you all right, my dear?"

"I… I don't know… I'm not sure… I don't think…"

Dorian cleared his throat. "What was that?"

The rough and gravely cough, right next to her ear, snapped her out of whatever trance or preoccupied state she had been in. She pulled her head away from the sound and turned towards it, and had to take a step back because Dorian was leaning in so close to her. As she moved away, he moved in, his curiosity aroused, to look at their prisoner.

"Oh! Dorian, you, erm, hello, I, ah," she didn't want to share her thoughts and said the first other thing that came to her mind, "I didn't see you there."

"Obviously," his tone was droll as he rolled his eyes. "I've been speaking to you for a whole five minutes, and I don't believe you've heard a single word I've said."

It hadn't been five minutes, closer to two at the most, but she couldn't have known that. "Oh, ah…" she dropped her face and chewed her lip, her fingers wringing themselves in front of her stomach, "…sorry?"

He stared at her, his dark brows drawn down and his gentle blue eyes growing concerned. "You've been gone for hours, my dear. Missed supper. I thought you were still in with Cullen and Abbets, and Cullen thought you had come and joined me. We were both fairly surprised when he opened the door to his office and found only me."

"Oh, well, yes, erm," her cheeks might have flushed a bit over the rebuking tone of his voice, but in the torchlight it was hard to tell. "Sorry."

"You said that."

"Oh."

Her voice was small, timid, full of a self-deprecating tone that made the wrinkle in Dorian's brow deepen. With a weary and long-suffering sigh, he leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing her with his eyes. "What is it, my dear? What has you so preoccupied that you can't even hear your own stomach growling?"

"I…" she tried to hedge, but her mind drew a blank, and her stomach was making itself heard. Feeling small, and unable to evade the question, she answered in an even smaller voice, "Idon'tthinkit'shim."

Dorian's eyebrow lifted. "What was that?"

Peredura made a face, more than a bit rueful, and definitely filled with self-reproach. "I don't think he's the mage."

She didn't think it could have been possible, but Dorian's eyebrow lifted even further up his forehead. And she felt even smaller than ever. "I know, I know," she sighed, dropping her eyes away from his face. She stepped up to the bars once more and returned to her earlier gazing, "It is him, I supposed. I mean, he was found on Fourth Avenue, the street that was being hidden by an invisibility spell, which we know he can cast."

"Yes, he was."

"And he matches the description, dark hair, dark skin, pockmarked cheeks, though it's hard to see if his features are angular beneath all that swelling."

"A broken nose would make things a bit difficult."

"And he's been out, so I really haven't been able to tell for myself if his eyes are blue, but Devensport assured me they were."

"He is a thorough man. I'm sure he double-checked the eye color before the mage lost consciousness, perhaps even after, just to be sure."

Peredura acted as if she hadn't heard or noticed the dry tone of his voice. "So it is him. It is the rogue mage, the one who tried to kidnap me and take me to Corypheus, and before that, who tried a couple times to kill me back in Haven."

He heard the disbelief in her voice. "But."

She pulled her face away from the bars to look at him and agreed. "But. But I don't know, Dorian, there's just something… off? I can't put my finger on it, but.."

He sighed again, though a bit less dramatic than before. A very small bit. "Let's see if we can clear this up. You, there," he turned and snapped his fingers at the pair of templars, "Whichever one of you has the keys, be a dear open this door, will you?"

"Ser?" the one with the keys stepped forward but looked to Peredura for confirmation. She gave it, nodding once and stepping back to allow him to access the door. The templar finished approaching and quickly unlocked the door, making sure he stayed away from the window and out of sight, before stepping back.

"Right!" Dorian rubbed his hands together, feeling a bit of a chill in the dungeon. "Let's settle this matter once and for all. Bring the torch. We'll want to have plenty of good lighting in there. No more excuses or doubts or the like. Agreed?"

"Yes, I suppose so…"

"No, no, no, my dear, no supposing. Fact. Fact and fact alone. We are going to dispel every doubt left within your mind, so we can all sleep easier tonight. Now, come on, let's get this over with. This dungeon is a bit damp for my liking." He swept into the cell, the hem of his robes twirling behind him, and Peredura bringing up the rear, torch in hand.

The prisoner was lying in the middle of the cell, wrists still bound in metal cuffs and chains, the links secured to a hoop embedded in the floor. Dorian nudged his shoulder with a boot, shoving the man onto his back and making his head wobble away from the torchlight. He knelt down, his hand cupping the other man's chin, and moved his face back towards Peredura. The mage moaned over the rough handling, but remained unconscious.

"Right, we'll start at the top. Dark hair."

She didn't say anything, but when Dorian looked up at her with an expectant look she knew she should play along. "Dark hair."

"Skin is dark, too, with pock marked cheeks, yes?"

"Yes," she agreed, though sounding reluctant.

"Hmmm…" he hummed, fingers feeling along the man's face, pushing past the tender swelling around the nose. "Cheekbones feel angular. Would you care to feel them for yourself?"

The Venatori feebly stirred, but could not escape the hands prodding at his bruised features.

"I'll trust your judgment," she sighed, sounding like she was anything else but trusting, yet she made no move to confirm for herself.

"Very well, let's check the eye color."

Dorian's fingers none-so-gently pulled open an eyelid.

"Basta bass," the mage grunted, trying to shove Dorian back and away from himself.

"Ah, look here," Dorian cooed as if he had just discovered something delightful, "He's decided to join us. Welcome, my friend. Tell me, what is your name?"

"By dabe?" the mage repeated, his light blue eyes blinking in the sparking torchlight. Dorian pointed them out to her, his brows raised as he silently waited for her to agree they were the correct color. Then the mage winced and finally managed to push Dorian away from hovering over the top of him. "Ah! Berciful Baker! By doze! What hab you dud to by doze?!"

Any other time, she might have laughed at the comical way he spoke, if it had been due to other circumstances. But she was too sober, too calm, too studious to find any humor in the current situation.

"Broken it, I'm afraid," Dorian answered, "Though from what I hear, you did it to yourself. You really should be more careful and watch where you step. I've answered your question, now you answer mine. What is your name?"

The mage glared at Dorian with cold blue eyes, but they weren't the points of ice-blue that Peredura remembered from her nightmares.

"Hmm? Speak up, I didn't quite catch that?"

The mage turned away from Dorian to stare at Peredura. "Go get your Idquisitor. I'll talk to her, doh od else."

"You'll talk to whomever is asking you questions," Dorian quickly countered, though he noted—as did Peredura—the mage's odd behavior. He slapped the other's cheek for good measure, trying to encourage him to hurry up and answer so he could get out of the dungeon because he truly was famished and wanted to tuck into supper but Cullen wouldn't hear of it until Peredura was found… "What. Is. Your. Name!"

The mage pressed his lips together tightly, hesitating, but he finally answered, "Baxibillius Dollatori."

"Maximillius Nollatori?" Dorian repeated, trying to decipher the name out of the nasally lisp. When the mage nodded, he leaned back and began standing up.

"Sed id the Idquisitor. She'll wadda talk to be. She'll wadda see be herself! Tell her by dabe, add see what she does. She'll cub, you'll see. She'll cub to be! She'll hab to," his voice grew deadly and quiet and somewhat threatening despite the lisp. He rolled himself onto his side, watching Dorian's back as he walked out of the cell, turning to stare at Peredura standing still and staring at him. "She doze what I doh. What I cad say. She would'd wad be to talk! Go ask her," he laughed, coughing up a little stale blood from the back of his throat. He spit it out onto the cell floor, nearly reaching her feet. "Go odd! Tell her I'b awake! Tell her and watch her squirb. I doh her deepest secret…"

He broke down into laughter at that point, a sort of maniacal bravado, a lame attempt to give himself courage.

But it made the hairs on Peredura's arms stand on edge.

She fled. She nearly dropped the torch in her haste, but she fled the cell and slammed the door shut behind her, trying to block out the laughter.

Yet it followed her into the hallway.

Dorian took the torch from her to replace it in the sconce on the wall and signaled a guard to come and re-lock the door. Then, taking her by the elbow, he ushered her from the dungeon.

Neither one of them spoke. She tried a few times, her mouth coming open, but the words simply were not there, not yet, not where any passing servant or guard might hear. Trying to push aside the knot of dread boiling in her gut, she tried for another topic. "Did I miss supper? Is that really why you came to find me?"

"What? Oh, erm, yes," Dorian nodded, continuing to steer her as they made their way through the mansion, "That, and there's an Orlesian messenger that's come to see you. Very insistent. Very rude. I tried to take the message myself, but he claims he cannot speak to anyone expect the Inquisitor and in person. He was putting up quite a fuss, which is when Cullen put his head into his office, and we realized you weren't with either of us. So, Cullen stayed in his office to try and intimidate the messenger while I went looking for you."

"Oh," she said softly, not really giving a flying-rat's-ass what an Orlesian messenger had to say to her. "Who's with Abbets?"

"I believe your Mabari is taking care of him at the moment. Fellow seems to be well enough, at least when I saw him. The servants fixed up the room across the hall from Cullen's office; Abbets will be staying there for the next few days while he, erm, does something that I know nothing about, of course."

She gave a weak sort of smile for the way Dorian played along with the charade—as a mage, he definitely shouldn't know anything about the suffering of templars. "Good. He'll be close enough for us to keep an eye on him, and still allow Cullen to take up his duties in his office."

"And I won't have to read another report!" Dorian exclaimed, beaming, as if the realization had just struck him.

"Oh, Dorian," she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"There," he nodded, "Now you look a bit better. Come on, my dear. You need to deal with this pesky Orlesian first. Then, well…"

And as quickly as the mood had lightened, it darkened once more. "Yes, well," she agreed.

They reached the office door, and though she tried, she couldn't hear any sounds coming from within. "Wish me luck," she muttered under her breath.

"Luck."

She smirked briefly, then opened the door. "Commander," she stepped into the room, entering with an authority and confidence as if she owned the place. "I'd like a word or two with you. Oh, ah," she pretended to have just noticed that another was in the room with them. She inclined her head at the messenger and very politely, though very firmly, stated, "Excuse us."

"Madam Inquisitor," he also inclined his head, "I have a message for you," he paused to watch as Dorian slipped in behind Peredura. "And you alone."

She turned to fix her coldest stare at the messenger. "I have another matter I need to deal with first. You can wait out in the hall."

"It is of the utmost urgency, your Worship," he pressed, holding out a rolled up piece of parchment. "The governor of the city demands that you…"

"As your own Empress can inform you," she said quietly, deadly, and in a voice so gentle as to be overflowing with terrible foreboding, "I am not in the habit of answering to anyone's demands. I give them, and I am obeyed. Not the other way around."

The threat was clear, as Peredura was the only reason the Empress was currently sitting on her throne. The messenger looked like he wanted to bolt, or wet himself, but bravely he did neither and pushed out in a rush, "The governor of the city would ask that you hand over your prisoner, the mage you captured earlier today."

Peredura didn't answer, pinning him with her stare and raising an eyebrow for added effect.

"He… he is responsible for, erm," he shuffled his feet uncomfortably as Dorian plucked the parchment from his hand, "For the deaths of twelve guards, over the course of the past three weeks. He must stand trial for his crimes, and be justly punished. Hand him over to face Orlesian justice, and then you can leave Val Royeaux."

Still she did not speak.

"That's all I have to say, your Worship. Ah…" He was sweating, licking his lips, wanting to head for the door but Dorian was now nonchalantly leaning against the wooden portal as he read the message.

Peredura took a deep breath, but her voice was far more reasonable as she spoke, "Very well."

"You…" the messenger stared at her with wide eyes, "You'll hand over your prisoner? You'll do it? Just like that?"

She scoffed. "I shall do no such thing. You," she stepped up to him, and despite being shorter she managed to look him squarely in the eyes, "You were sent here to deliver a message, and very rudely, too, I might add. Very well, I listened. Your message has been delivered. Your duty performed. Therefore, there is nothing more for you to do here. You are now dismissed." She turned her back to him and stepped back towards Cullen's desk. "Has there been any news from Skyhold today? I keep hoping that Morrigan has found something useful."

Cullen followed her lead and ignored the messenger. "Nothing as of yet, though Leliana remains cautiously hopeful."

The messenger started for the door, but Dorian was still blocking it. The messenger tried to move around the mage, who took that moment to stand away from the door and bump into him. "Oh, pardon me," Dorian's voice was thick with sarcasm, "Were you trying to use this door?"

"Please, ser," the messenger moaned softly, "Let me out of here while I still have my head attached." He reached around on the left for the latch.

Dorian stepped forward right into the man's way.

He reached around to the right, and Dorian shifted that way.

"Oh, dear, I do seem to be making a mess of this. Here, you go this way, I'll go that. Sound good?"

The man almost whined with desperation, yanking the latch from Dorian's hand, escaping into the hallway, bumping into a guard in his haste, before running off and out of sight.

Dorian chuckled darkly as he closed the door.

"Dorian…" Peredura sighed.

"What?" he asked, batting innocent-looking eyes at her. "Honestly, the man was quite irritating when he first arrived. I earned a bit of satisfaction over his discomfort."

"I have to admit," Cullen added in his two copper's worth, "It was nice to see him so flustered. The most I had been able to do was start a staring match with him."

"Men," she sighed again and rolled her eyes.

"What was that?" they asked in unison.

"Never mind," she pinched the bridge of her nose. "What does the message say?"

"Oh, the usual," Dorian passed over the parchment. "A list of charges, a brief summary of the evidence against him, and a 'request' that you hand this mage over to their court. There's a thinly veiled threat at the end, that if you do not hand over the mage, our forces might find it a bit difficult to leave the city. Something about, so long as this mage remains out of their custody, their citizens won't feel safe, so extra guards and patrols will need to be assigned."

"Sounds like they mean to keep us prisoner," Cullen's brow was furrowed as he looked over the missive, "Until we give them our prisoner."

"They dare…" she almost whispered, her eyes narrowing and her nostrils flaring, "They dare… to even attempt to… keep us…"

"We'll find a way out of this," Cullen reached out and took her shoulder, "Diplomatically. Some how. But for the moment, we do have to stay here and wait for Harding and Blackwall to arrive, not to mention give Abbets time to, erm," he eyed Dorian, more out of a force of habit than any rancor or wariness, "Make it through his withdrawal. That should give us a few days to determine just how serious they are about taking custody of the mage. Speaking of which…"

Dorian coughed, but Peredura answered first, "I was wondering, how is Abbets doing? I know, after taking a full dose earlier today, it'll be awhile before his other symptoms start showing, but his visions seem fairly strong already."

"Shall I leave?"

"No, you can stay, Dorian. I have a feeling we may need your help, and you already seem to know more about this topic than you should." He eyed Peredura, but she didn't flinch or allow herself to feel any guilt over sharing private templar matters with a mage—a Tevinter mage, of all people! "For personal reasons, Peredura seems to set off Abbets' visions; her presence makes him hallucinate, so she probably shouldn't assist with his recovery. And I cannot stay with him all the time; I need to start returning to my duties here. We are going to need help—Abbets is going to need help—with this. If you could…"

"I'd rather not tend to a templar when he's hallucinating," Dorian shook his head. "Sick or no, he's still a templar—at least until he's over his withdrawal—and I'm still a mage. I won't feel comfortable tending him, nor do I think I'd make him comfortable. Quite the opposite, I'd imagine. I'm not trying to get out of helping," he held up a hand, "I'll be more than happy to assist here in your office. I simply adore bureaucracy and paperwork and paper cuts and ink stains beneath my nails. But I don't think Abbets would appreciate me in his chambers when he's, erm, at his most vulnerable."

"He's got a point, Cullen," Peredura nodded. "Perhaps we should ask Abbets what he thinks. Maybe he wouldn't mind if Devensport or some of the others took turns sitting with him. And it might be good for them, to see Abbets make it through lyrium withdrawal."

"If he makes it through," Cullen sighed.

"He'll make it through," she affirmed. "Tell him, that's an order, from me. And if he doesn't obey me, he'll have to answer to Fear."

Cullen gave a small laugh for her determination. "All right. I'll pass the order along. And I'll ask him if there's anyone he wouldn't mind, well, sitting with him over the next few days. Should probably do that before we get too far into his, while he is still able to think clearly and make decisions for himself."

"Sounds like a good idea. Dorian mentioned he's in the room right across the hall?"

"No, Peredura," he shook his head, "Don't think of it. I know you only want to help, but this time there are others who can do this. You must stay away. The less stress we put him through, the better."

"I know, but…" she crossed her arms, "I just wanted to see him before, well, before things get too difficult…"

"They already are," he countered. "We found that out this afternoon, remember? That reminds me, where did you disappear to, after I told you to leave? You weren't in here with Dorian."

"No, I…"

"She was down in the dungeon," Dorian supplied, tattling on her, "Checking in on our mage. She doesn't seem to think he's the mage who's been plaguing her all these months."

"Dorian…" she moaned, feeling her cheeks burst into flame, and not daring to look at Cullen.

"And I almost agree with her."

"What?!" Both Peredura and Cullen exclaimed at the same time.

"I said, 'almost.' Though I've never met the man, thankfully, he does match the description you gave of the mage who kidnapped you and gave you opeigh. And," Dorian took a deep breath, "He also matches the description of Maximillius Nollatori."

"I don't understand," Cullen shook his head. "Who's Maximillis Nollatori?"

"A blood mage from Tevinter," Dorian answered, "Well, more accurately, a blood mage protege. He ran in all the wrong circles, sucked up to all the wrong mages, including Vivianus Vicici," he nodded to Peredura, "Though as I understand it, they had a falling out a few months ago."

"How do you know this?" Cullen pressed. "I thought you said you never met the man."

"I haven't," he affirmed, picking at an ink stain beneath a nail, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a blood mage, though I have dabbled a bit in necromancy, and there are a few areas where our studies overlap. Also, people do love to gossip, especially when someone well-known and equally well-despised commits an epic faux pas. Which Nollatori did, spectacularly too, I might add. It was after some sort of blood mage gathering. He took one of Vicici's favorite slaves, and…"

Dorian suddenly stopped, realization striking him almost like a physical blow, and lifted wide eyes to Peredura.

"Yes, that was me," she answered, her expression only somewhat humiliated, "He found me alone in an alcove and took advantage of me."

Dorian had to try three times before he found his voice. "Vishante kaffas! Peredura, I… I'm sorry, I… I didn't realize…"

"I know," she nodded, "It's all right. So this Nollatori, he was ostracized because of what he did?" She couldn't help but feel a little bit vindicated over the fact.

Dorian swallowed, trying to move past it as she had done. "Yes, he was. Vicici nearly killed him on the spot, but he was told to spare Nollatori's life. He sent him packing instead, told him to never come near himself or any of his slaves, and for Nollatori to stay away from any of his dealings. Not many mages would have anything to do with him after that, mostly out of fear of Vicici's wrath, but also because he wasn't really liked by anyone, and this meant no one had to try to be nice to him any longer."

"And you know Nollatori's description from this story?"

Dorian nodded, "I do. And the mage we have in a cell beneath our feet matches that description. It's only that, well…"

"Well, what?" Cullen pressed.

Dorian looked at Peredura, and she looked back at him. "He didn't know me."

"What?" Cullen repeated.

"When… Nollatori," it felt so odd, finally being able to put a name to the rogue mage, but Peredura persisted, "When he saw me, when Dorian and I went into his cell and woke him up and he looked at me," she paused to shrug, "He didn't recognize me. He told ME to go and fetch the Inquisitor, that he wanted to talk with her. If he really is the rogue mage, this Nollatori, shouldn't he know me? Shouldn't he be so obsessed with me, that he could pick me out of a crowd of people?"

Cullen let out a weary breath. "Pere, the man's injured and in pain; we haven't even allowed him a healing potion yet. And you were standing there, wearing a nondescript scout uniform," his hand swept in her plain and simple garb, "Not your fancy Inquisitor uniform. It's no wonder he was a little confused."

"That… makes sense," Dorian sounded like he was trying to convince himself, too. "You were holding the torch, and allowing me to question the prisoner, not at all how one might expect The Inquisitor to act. He might not even have been able to see clearly, his eyes watering what with the broken nose and all. You probably weren't more to him than a blurry shape. And you didn't speak, so there could be no reason for him to recognize you by your voice."

"That all makes sense, but…"

"But," Cullen came around his desk and put his hands on her shoulders. "Listen, Pere, if it looks like a duck, and quacks like a duck…"

"And shits like a duck, it's probably a Venatori blood mage," Dorian glibly finished for him.

Peredura laughed, partly at Dorian's wit, partly the dark look Cullen fired his way, but mostly because she could admit, "I am being silly, aren't I?"

"Mostly, yes," he concurred, turning away from the unrepentant Dorian to kiss her forehead, "But I'm getting used to it. Let's just ignore the mage for the time being. We have to wait for Blackwall and Harding to get here before we can return to Skyhold anyway, and this may all blow over by then. Besides, there's Abbets to consider. Let's focus on him for now; that should be enough to keep us all worried and occupied for the next several days. All right?"

"All right," she nodded.

"Well, now that that's settled," Dorian clapped his hands together and rubbed them eagerly, "Let's have dinner, shall we? I don't know about the two of you, but I'm famished! Though by this late hour, the chef has undoubtedly gone to bed. We'll probably be reduced to picking over whatever might be left down in the kitchens."

Peredura shook her head and waved him towards the door, "You go ahead, Dorian. I think I'll work in Cullen's office tonight; just have something sent up to me, would you, please?"

"And I've already had a bite," Cullen also declined the offer. "Besides, I should get back to Abbets."

"Abandoning me, are you? Leaving me to scavenge on my own? Huh, very well then," he spun with an affected huff and yanked open the door, shooting over his shoulder as he departed, "See if I ever invite either of you on another late-night forage for goodies."

Peredura giggled, silently, at his dramatics, her shoulders bouncing a little. And so did Cullen's, his one arm still around her back, moving with his amusement as they also walked out into the hallway.

"Ah, what a day."

"Hmm?" she hummed, watching the last of Dorian's robes flick and twirl as he rounded the corner at the far end of the hallway. "Really? It's only been one day? Was it really just this morning when we, erm…" her voice trailed off, her cheeks bursting into flame. Too late she realized they weren't exactly alone in the hallway, two of her Honor Guard standing a discrete distance away, but close enough should they be needed—or to overhear a private conversation. "I mean, when you got up today, and started feeling better, and got over the, ah, symptoms of, oh, ah, you know…"

Cullen smiled for her, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles. "I'm fine, Pere. I haven't spent years being addicted to opeigh, so my withdrawal from it was mild." He tried to reassure her, also keeping his voice softer and for her ears alone.

"But you've spent years taking lyrium," she countered. "I didn't know, I mean, that could have had an effect, made you more susceptible, or left you with less resistance, or something."

He gave her that smirk, and she knew she was being silly—again—but damn it!

Thankfully, he didn't feel the need to rub it in her face and instead quickly let the matter drop. "I am going to have to stay with Abbets, go over a few things with him, while he's still in control of his faculties. Here's a thought: do you think we should have Stitches prepare another one of those potions, like he did for me, a sleeping draught within a lyrium bottle?"

"I don't think we'll need that this time," she shook her head, knowing she would have to let him go soon, yet reluctant to leave his side. "I asked him to do that, because I was on my own with you, and didn't want you to get too far, if you should happen to give in to temptation. Which you didn't, thankfully, but I'd rather not have one of those misleading bottles lying around again…"

"Good point," he, too, was reluctant to let her go. "Pere, I know… I asked if you could… if tonight we… ah…"

"I know," she tried not to sniff. "Abbets takes priority. At least for tonight. Maybe another night, if someone else does sit with him, then we could…"

She left the sentence hanging suggestively.

"A rain check, then?"

"Rain… check," she repeated, unfamiliar with the term.

"It means, we can't do what we want to do this time, but we will try again, another time." He brought both her hands to his lips and kissed them, "And soon."

"Rain check," she repeated again, "Oh, like the other day, when our shopping trip was interrupted by the rain. We couldn't finish shopping then, so we were going to have to finish it later. A rain check."

"Erm, yes, but, ah, you don't need any more books or anything, do you?"

She saw the stricken look on his face and almost laughed. "No, I managed to pick up more books than what was on my list; I have plenty… for now. But," she batted her eyes at him, peeking through her long bangs, "I will take a rain check for that other thing we had planned for tonight."

He pointedly ignored the Honor Guard standing in the hall just a few yards from them—according to both Abbets and Devensport, all her guard knew the two of them had feelings towards each other, so why keep pretending?—and kissed her. It was brief, far too brief for her liking, but all they could reasonably manage under the circumstances. When he pulled back, her lips felt tingly and wet and in need of more. "Until another night."

Fear barked from within the room, the sound barely carrying past the stout door, but alerting them that something was amiss with Abbets and that Cullen's presence was warranted.

"Until then," she sighed in agreement, knowing she had to let him go. Contrary to her words, however, her fingers kept hold of his, even as he turned away and opened the door and stepped inside the room, staying in contact with him until the last possible moment. Then she was alone in the hall—except for her guard, of course.

As she turned back to the office, leaving Cullen to sit with Abbets, she tried to occupy herself with plans for this future night, rather than dwell on the hell that was going to occur over the next few days.

Author's Note: Whew! That was a lot to get out.

Okay, so, there's a little bit more to do here in Val Royeaux (if you've done Blackwall's story, then you know what's coming, but I'll skip most of that because I gotta get back to what happened to Bull). I'm gonna try to get to it soon, but I really wanted to get these three chapters out fairly close together, and now I kinda need a small break :'D

I haven't said this for a while, but I really do appreciate all the likes and comments.